


Like Gene Kelly in the Movies

by lyra_wing



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:04:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyra_wing/pseuds/lyra_wing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything Tony Stark does is a dance. And it's super confusing for Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Upon rewatching the Iron Man movies, it struck me how graceful Tony is, no matter what he's doing—be it in the lab, or in the suit, or just… walking around. Title is what it is because one of my favorite scenes from movie musicals is [this one](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvglHa_P9BA), from _An American in Paris_ with Gene Kelly. (Ugh, Gene Kelly. Such a cutie, with such great physicality.)
> 
> Rated Mature for the coda.

The first time Steve notices, Tony is flying in the Iron Man suit.

Steve and Natasha are on the ground and Tony and Thor are their cover, backing them up during their break-in into an arms facility. Clint and Bruce are the forward team, hopefully hacking their way into the security system at this very second. They're in the middle of the desert and it's completely dark all around them, the sky midnight blue and filled with stars.

"You're clear, Cap, Black Widow." Tony flies in a gentle arc over their heads, giving them a slight nod before taking off, going higher in the sky. He flies in a spiral, twisting his way through the darkness overhead, repulsors on his hands and boots leaving a looping trail of blue-white light behind him.

It's insane to think that the Iron Man suit—this huge clanking piece of armor—could be graceful, but the suit moves through the air like a bird in flight, like a spinning firework. "He… he looks like he's dancing." The words slip out of Steve's mouth before he's aware of what he's saying.

"Wow, could you have any more stars in your eyes, Captain?" says Natasha with a lifted eyebrow.

"I—" Steve flushes. They're only talking in person, not on the party line for everyone to hear, for which Steve is grateful, because—

"Hey, Cap, I said you're clear. Shake a leg. Is your hearing aid on the fritz?" Tony's voice on the comm line interrupts his thoughts.

Steve grits his teeth. Yes, Steve is grateful, because Tony is a jerk and deserves no further compliments to make his head even bigger than it already is.

 

***

 

Steve sometimes composes letters to Bucky inside his head. He imagines sending them, imagines Bucky reading them and laughing at him. He knows it's probably not healthy, to hold on so tight to someone long gone, but no one else could understand all the changes in the world since Steve's last known it—sometimes surprising, sometimes disappointing, sometimes reassuring. Besides, Steve would rather hold on too tight than forget.

 _Dear Bucky_ , Steve thinks, _I think you would like Thor. He's basically an alien, but not like the aliens we used to read about in science fiction serials. He looks just any other normal person, and he's like a lot of guys we knew in the service. He's got a good attitude no matter what happens, always ready to go, and he's one of the few people who sort of understands how I feel, since everything in this world is pretty new to him, too._

"So you see," Thor is saying, holding up a phone—which still looks absurdly _non-phone-shaped_ to Steve, it looks more like a pack of cards—in his huge hand, "the Midgardian technology called a 'satellite' orbits the Earth, and signals from this device shoot up into the satellite and bounce back, so you know your location on Earth at all times."

Steve takes the phone back and frowns. It's not that GPS technology is surprising—it's more worrisome than anything else, knowing what this kind of tracking ability could be used for. For all that the modern world worries about its privacy, people seem to voluntarily give it up very easily.

"Oh my god, it's like the blind leading the blind." Tony wanders into the room. He's wearing a sharp suit and sunglasses, and Steve doesn't understand why a person needs to do that indoors. He looks over the top of said sunglasses at Steve. "You're in my seat, old timer."

And that's just so—Steve barely holds a growl in check. "Deal with it."

"Oooh," says Clint, strolling in and taking a seat. "You hear that, Stark? Ballsy."

"It's okay. I don't want him to break a hip or something getting up," says Tony easily. He slides into a chair, using his own momentum to send it and himself rolling to the other end of the conference table. He props his feet up on the table, leaning back. "So where is everyone else, anyway? Don't you all know about the five-minute rule? Got people to see, multibillion-dollar corporation to run."

 _Bucky, I think you and Tony Stark would not get along at all_ , adds Steve, and the imagined letter in his head is written in an angry scrawl, _You'd probably end up fighting all the time. He's arrogant and self-centered and—_

"Rogers, you look kinda constipated," declares Tony, interrupting Steve's thoughts. "You get enough fiber? The country's no longer on the rationing system, FYI; not sure if you got the memo."

Steve grinds his teeth so hard that his jaw hurts.

 

***

 

The second time Steve notices, he's in Tony's lab.

It's his first time visiting the lab in Stark Tower, and it's the most technologically advanced place Steve has encountered yet. When he punches in the access code Tony had given him, the door says to him, "Welcome, Captain Rogers" in a British man's voice.

Steve has wondered why the future is only… futuristic, for lack of a better word, in certain locales. Tony's personal tech and SHIELD tech seem to be leaps and bounds ahead of everyone else, the sort of unbelievable stuff that Steve expects of the future, but lots of areas of the world look exactly the same as they did in the 1940s. And those are usually the poorest communities, the neighborhoods that most people would prefer to forget or ignore. The discrepancy is glaringly obvious to Steve, but no one else seems to notice. When Steve had asked about it, Bruce had said, "Ah, well, I think the answer boils down to three unfortunate words: intellectual property rights."

Steve's not entirely sure where to stand in Tony's lab so he won't be in the way. There are car parts and unidentifiable machinery everywhere, and scattered among the physical objects are blue glowing displays and models just floating in the air.

The blue displays hover and rotate slowly, and when Steve looks more closely, he sees that some are schematics for the Iron Man suit. One is a complete—and very _detailed_ —diagram of the anatomy of Tony's body.

"Like what you see?" Tony appears from behind a giant engine of some kind, red-tinted glasses covering his eyes.

Steve jumps and does _not_ turn red. He says, voice tight from the sudden irritation spiking in him, "What do you want?"

"Ohh, right now, it's a toss-up between world peace and all the Laker girls in my pool. But I won't bore you; my wants are too many to list." Tony pushes the glasses up onto his forehead, making his hair stick up. He snaps his fingers and the lights in the lab get brighter. With a wave of his arm, the blue display closest to him—it looks like a jet of some kind—goes flying across the lab, landing closer to the bank of computer monitors at Steve's end of the room.

"I meant," says Steve, forcing himself to keep an even tone, and why is it that talking to Tony always gives him a headache? "I meant, what do you want with me?"

Tony stops for a second, glancing at him with an unreadable look. "Ah, no, too easy," Tony says, almost to himself. A little louder and more brightly, he says, "I've got some good news for you, Steve. I'm gonna upgrade your suit. Free of charge, because you likely are on the government payroll, so I'll consider this a pro bono consulting case."

He crosses the room as he talks, pushing and pulling at the holographic displays as he goes, weaving between the actual physical objects in the room effortlessly. He ducks under the arm of one robot, muttering, "Where the hell did I put it? Jarvis, where the hell did I put—oh, yes, here we go," and then he literally plucks a display out of the air, and pulls it apart with his hands like a conductor in front of an orchestra, blowing it up in size. He waves his arm and points at Steve, sending the display shooting in Steve's direction. And somehow, in a matter of moments, Tony and Steve stand a pace apart, with a glowing blue life-sized model of the Captain America suit hovering between them.

Steve can't help staring a little. It's like _everything_ Tony does is… graceful, somehow, and Steve doesn't think Tony realizes it at all.

"Hey, space cadet." Tony snaps his fingers in front of Steve's face. The lights in the lab go brighter, brighter, and then they all shut off. In the pitch black, Tony says, "Oh, dammit." 

Tony claps his hands, and the lights come back on. "Seriously, Jarvis, you don't realize when I'm snapping at you and when I'm snapping at someone else? I programmed you better than that. Anyway." Tony turns back to Steve. "Well? Say something."

"Uh, thanks?" Steve doesn't know why Tony is doing this for him, being nice to him. He's never quite sure where he stands with Tony, or if they're even friends. All he's ever gotten from the man are smart remarks and jibes.

Tony rolls his eyes. "Your uncertain gratitude makes me all atwitter. Alright, let Jarvis scan your body and then get out. I need to think." With a wave over his shoulder, Tony goes back to the other side of the lab, returning to the engine he was working on earlier. He whistles into the air, saying, "Hey, give me a beat," and some horribly loud rock 'n roll music starts, bass line thumping all around them. He doesn't look up again, ignoring Steve entirely, so Steve guesses he's effectively been dismissed.

"Captain Rogers, please raise your arms and place your feet shoulder-width apart." The British man—this is probably Jarvis, Steve guesses—is speaking to him, voice barely audible above the din.

Steve does so, muttering, "Is he always like this?"

He doesn't think he spoke loud enough to be heard over the music, but Jarvis responds, saying, "Yes, always, Captain. Please hold still for the next 20 seconds."

 

***

 

The thing is, Steve still sometimes feels like he's in a borrowed body.

Sure, he's been in this body long enough and he's trained in it long enough that it's no longer completely foreign to him. It feels mostly like his own body, now, but there are still some days when he feels like he's just strapped on a giant suit of muscles.

And apparently today is one of those days, because when Steve enters Bruce's lab—which is much _smaller_ than Tony's, and filled with a lot more breakable things—he's like the proverbial bull in the china shop.

"Hey, watch out!" Bruce leaps forward, diving to the floor, and only barely manages to catch the beaker before it crashes to the tiles.

All the people gathered around the lab—Steve, Natasha, Clint—freeze. They watch Bruce's back as he carefully gets to his feet and places the beaker back on the lab table.

"Oh geez, sorry," breathes Steve, once it's clear that Bruce is not about to explode in green rage. Sometimes he feels like he's just too _big_ — the only person he's met that's bigger than him is Thor, and Thor isn't even _human_. "I'm sorry. I'm uh, a little clumsy sometimes?"

Natasha and Clint both release identical snorts of amusement, which is a little unfair, when they are probably the least clumsy people Steve has ever met.

Bruce is smiling, but it looks too—tight. "Not a problem." Are his eyes normally green? Steve feels like this is information that is _very important_ to know about Bruce. "But maybe you should… wait outside for a second. Clint and Natasha will fill you in."

So Steve stands out in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his hands in his jacket pockets, like a kid in time-out. That's where Tony finds him moments later.

"Wow, who kicked your puppy?" Tony says, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to look at him.

"Just… leave me alone," mutters Steve. He sorely misses… _everything_ , misses understanding the world, misses having someone around who understands _him_ , and it hits him abruptly, as it often does.

"Oh god, stop with that face, it's probably against a national law for Captain America to have that sadsack face," says Tony, sounding irritated. He prods a finger into Steve's ribs. "C'mon, get moving, nobody puts baby in a corner."

"What?" Steve doesn't know how to take that strange statement. "Stop _poking_ me." He slaps Tony's hand away, but heads back to the lab without further protest. He wonders—not for the first time since meeting Tony Stark—if he's become too conditioned to following orders.

"It's… oh, never mind." Tony shakes his head. "Jesus, I need to give you a pop culture digest or something, or we can't talk at all."

Steve just frowns, not sure if that is exactly the problem.

 

***

 

The third time Steve notices is when they're in the middle of a fight.

Actually, Tony and Steve are in the middle of— _running_ —because the insectoid aliens that rained down on Washington D.C. were unexpectedly bigger than the briefing had promised they would be. And they have exoskeletons like _steel_. Two are skittering down K Street, chasing after them with alarming speed.

"Cap, we're gonna bank hard on my count," says Tony, who is flying low beside him as Steve runs. "Turn and hold up your shield when I say. Ready? Three, two, one, _now_ —"

They both turn, and Steve braces the shield. He feels Tony kick off of it, boot repulsors bursting white-hot, and watches Tony hurtle forward like a bullet, arms outstretched, energy blastors emitting red beams from his palms, one at each giant insect. The beams explode on contact, flipping the insects and leaving them struggling ungainly on their backs.

"Shield! The one on the left!" Tony's voice shouts in his ear.

Steve throws the shield, and it hums through the air, neatly decapitating one of the insects before returning back to his hand.

Tony takes the one on the right, jumping up and bobbing around the chomping jaws, aided by his repulsors. Steve watches, trying to get a clear shot, but Tony is moving around too much to try it. For a second, Tony almost gets caught by in between the insect's giant forelegs, which are trying to grab at him, but he kicks out, using the momentum to flip up and over. While he is flying in an arc over the insect's head, he fires both of his palm repulsors straight down into the insect's mouth. Its head explodes spectacularly in a burst of fire and black goo.

As always, Tony leaps away and lands gracefully, braced with one knee and one fist on the ground. It's as if the suit weighs nothing on him, is just a second skin, when Steve knows it actually weighs a ton.

Steve walks over and gives him a hand up. "How do you _do_ that?" he can't help but say.

"Yeah, I'm pretty awesome, aren't I?" The Iron Man mask flips up and Tony gives him a wink. "Just say it, I'm awesome."

"Oh my god," says Steve, turning away, suddenly feeling acutely embarrassed and more than a little irritated. "Just forget it." He puts a hand to his ear, activating the comm. "Hulk, Thor, give me your location."

Tony closes the helmet again, but follows Steve, still persisting, "No, no, this is a moment that will go down in my diary with little hearts around it. Captain America almost gave me a compliment. Hey, I have some autographed photos in the suit somewhere; do you want one? And there's that constipated face again, Cap; haven't we already had the fiber discussion?"

 

***

 

Alright, so Steve gets a little… fixated.

He can't help it, because the one of the (many) things that Steve lacks is physical grace and agility, and he admires other people who possess those qualities. It makes sense coming from people like Natasha and Clint, and even Peggy, but to see such qualities inhabit such a… blunt and otherwise _graceless_ person, is just strange.

One day, in his dorm at SHIELD, Steve flips to a blank page in his briefing notebook and draws a sketch of an arm of the Iron Man suit. He draws it extended, and he draws it bent. He draws Tony's arm doing the same things. It doesn't look quite right, though, but Steve doesn’t know why.

He ends up drawing sheets and sheets of both the suit, and of Tony. Just different parts of the body, studying how they move, together and apart. None of them look right.

Steve flips to a new sheet—he's getting to the end of the notebook now—and draws Tony as he saw him in the lab the other day, in a ratty t-shirt, goggles on his forehead, gesturing at something glowing in the air. It seems better, and then Steve realizes what's wrong—movement is hard to convey with pencil on paper.

So to get the drawing right, Steve ends up blurring all the lines a little bit.

 _That oughta tell ya something, buddy,_ says Bucky's imagined voice in his mind, deeply amused.

 

***

 

The second time Steve visits Tony's lab, it isn't any less strange. For one thing, it seems like half of the things in the lab are totally different—and Steve's last visit was only a couple of weeks ago—different machines, different cars, different computers. Among the new things is a mannequin wearing a Captain America suit. Tony himself is sitting at a bank of monitors, working with something on the screens. He swipes a hand through the air in front of the monitors and the display on the monitor goes shooting into a spot in the air, expanding into a glowing hologram.

"You did this all in two weeks? Do you ever sleep?" says Steve wonderingly, approaching the new suit and reaching out a hand to touch it. The material is totally different—not like the original leather, but not like the upgraded suit SHIELD made for him, either. This suit seems like it's made out of tiny blue _scales_ , tightly overlapping one another to form a hard but flexible armor.

"Yes, but apparently not enough, or so Pepper says. But she also talks a lot about these things called 'regular meals' and 'healthy living,' which I think are just urban legends." Tony gets up. He snaps his fingers and makes a beckoning motion with his hand, and one of the blue displays flies into him like a boomerang. He pulls it apart, expanding it, and Steve sees that it's a diagram of the suit material.

Tony points out certain parts of the diagram to Steve. "See, I kind of riffed off of the concept of chainmail. And fish scales, clearly. You have to appreciate the incongruity of it. It's lighter, and it seems weaker because it's not solid, but the overlapping microplates reinforce the armor's strength. Twice the durability, half the weight."

"That's… geez, that's amazing, Tony." And Steve honestly means it.

"Aw, stop, you're making me blush." Tony claps his hands together around the diagram, and it shrinks to the size of a coin. He flicks it away with his fingers, and it bounces away into the air, landing somewhere on the other side of the lab. "You know what, though. In return, I'd like you to do a favor for me."

"What?" Steve is circling his suit, touching at the new gloves, which aren't made of the scale-mail material, but also seem to be less bulky and simultaneously more durable.

Tony produces a rolled up notebook, which had been tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. "Explain to me what's up with this?"

To Steve's horror, he sees that Tony's holding up Steve's briefing notebook, the one with all the sketches in it.

"Wh-where did you get that?" It was too much to hope that Tony hadn't looked in it; of _course_ he had, because he was Tony, and because Steve could never catch a break, and already a blush of embarrassment was roiling up his neck, into his face.

"You left it after a debriefing." Tony is starting to smile, to look absolutely gleeful. "I think you need to come clean here, Steve. Just admit it, you love me. Or do you love Iron Man? I could make you an honorary member of the Iron Man fan club if you like."

"Oh _god_ , just… shut up." Steve snatches the notebook out of Tony's hands, rolling it up, seriously considering smacking Tony in the head with it. His face is going to burn off, if the way it's currently feeling is any indication. "It's not like that. It's just—"

"What?" Tony genuinely looks curious.

"You… I don’t know. Your agility, your form of movement." Steve blows an irritated breath between his teeth. He doesn't want to talk about this. He _really_ doesn't want to talk about this. "Those aren't exactly my strong suits. I was trying to… figure it out."

"Huh." Tony actually looks like he's giving this serious consideration.

This isn't the reaction Steve is expecting. For one thing, he had imagined there'd be a lot more laughing. So he adds, reluctantly, "Half the problem is me. I'm just clumsy."

"It's nothing you can't train or practice away," says Tony with a dismissive wave of his hand. He suddenly brightens, and Steve can practically _see_ the metaphorical light-bulb over Tony's head. "Hey, I have a great idea."

"What is it?" says Steve warily.

"Let's dance." Tony advances, smiling slightly. It's actually more of a smirk.

"I—what?" Steve thinks he can't possibly have heard correctly. He backs up, away from Tony, and knocks into a robot, which seemingly wakes up and whirrs at him with an irritated noise.

Tony says, "It'll improve your form and agility." He snaps his fingers and a waltz starts up, lively and familiar, and Steve swears he's heard this song before, a long time ago. For some reason, the bright and cheerful song makes Steve unaccountably nervous, puts a dead weight in his stomach. Tony holds his arms out and flaps a hand at Steve. "C'mon soldier, hop to it. I haven't got all day."

Steve swallows down on the sudden anger that bubbles up. He pushes at Tony with both hands, stopping his advance, and Tony is propelled a step backwards.

Tony drops his arms and laughs a little. He waves at the air with a flick of his wrist, and the music stops.

"Everything really is a joke to you, isn't it?" Steve says. He has to choke the words out, and he _knows_ he's being irrationally angry, but normal people don't _act_ like this with their friends. "You know, I was actually starting to _admire_ you, but… my mistake. I'm just a huge walking punchline, and you're just a bully like all the other bullies that made fun of me when I was a kid. Well, fine. That's just… fine. Have it your way."

Tony stops smiling at Steve's speech, and he scrubs a hand over his face, looking perplexed. "That's not. _Wow_ , do you have the wrong—"

Steve has to get away, because he can't listen to Tony talk any more. "I'll… see you around," he mutters. "Thanks for the suit."

 

***

 

Steve is at the gym, working through another punching bag (Fury has informed him that he has a quota of ten punching bags a month, and anything more comes out of his paycheck). Another one-two combo snaps the chain and sends the bag flying across the room.

It's stopped mid-flight by Natasha, who appears seemingly from nowhere and knocks the bag to the ground with a spiral kick.

"Natasha?" Steve doesn't usually see Natasha training here. He supposes she wishes to keep her training routine—like every other aspect of her—private.

"Spar with me," she says, with no further elaboration.

So Steve shrugs and goes with it, throwing a punch, which Natasha dodges so easily it's like she just happened to move out of the way by coincidence. Before Steve knows what's happening, she grabs his extended arm and uses it to flip up and _over_ him, and then they're off.

It's strange to be fighting with a girl like this, no holds barred, but the size and power differential seems to make no difference. Despite the full effort Steve puts into it, he only manages to tap Natasha once, and grazes her twice.

"Huh," says Natasha, as she flips out of Steve's reach with back handsprings, "Tony's right. You do need work on your agility."

"He—he _talked_ to you about that?" Steve doesn't know what to think, but apparently his skin does, because a flush of embarrassment already starts blooming hot on his face, down his neck.

"Not in so many words. You have to get used to talking with Tony, to understand what he's really getting at when he rambles." Natasha beckons and adds, "Show me a jab on your left, then right, and then left again. Fast as you can."

Steve does so, and Natasha just observes the movement, head tilted to one side.

"He does like you, you know," she says, totally out of the blue.

Steve is thrown off, faltering mid-punch. He wonders if this conversation isn't really some kind of elaborate interrogation game for Natasha, rather than physical sparring. "Uh. Pardon?"

Natasha pauses and adds, half to herself, "He probably likes you more than the rest of us. Except maybe Bruce, but they have this scientist bonding thing going."

"I'm pretty sure that Tony just likes making fun of me," mutters Steve. He sighs, and straightens out of his boxing stance. He starts unwrapping the bandages on his hands. "He's always a jerk to me. All the time."

"News flash, Rogers, he's a jerk to _everyone_. I spent a year with him undercover at his company; believe me, I know. He actually treats you marginally nicer than other people."

Steve stares at Natasha. "Are we talking about the same Tony Stark?"

Natasha just looks at him, impassive. "I'm just saying you might be reacting to something that's not even there." She gives a little shrug, like she doesn't care whether Steve believes her or not.

Natasha has a deadpan, serious way of talking that only rarely changes or shows inflection, and so you're always inclined to believe everything she says because she sounds utterly bored. Someone telling a lie would be more invested in the conversation. Steve thinks it's a pretty neat trick, when you think about it.

"I…" Steve stops unwrapping his hands, holding the strips of cotton tight in his fists. He shakes his head, as if doing that will clear up matters. "I thought you weren't a fan of his. But here you are, defending him."

"You're right; I'm not a fan of his," Natasha agrees, smiling a little, and Steve can _never_ tell when her facial expressions are just an act or are true emotions. In fact, Steve's not sure this whole conversation isn't somehow a set-up, but Steve doesn't know what her angle would be.

Natasha gives another small shrug, just a bob of one shoulder. "But what can I say? Can't stand to see Mom and Dad fighting like this."

And with that totally perplexing statement, she makes her exit, leaving Steve standing there in the gym alone. Steve looks down, and loosens the fists he has made of his hands, letting the bandages drop to the floor.

 

***

 

After that, Steve isn't sure what to think. He also isn't sure what Tony is thinking, but Steve quickly gets the feeling that he needs to repair the damage done after their last conversation.

When the Avengers gather together at SHIELD for their next meeting, Tony doesn't even seem to acknowledge Steve's presence. He slides into his usual chair with a nod to Bruce and to Natasha, but generally ignores everyone else. He spends half the meeting seemingly engaged in typing something on his phone, only occasionally making an absent comment (and that's only after Fury yells at him to pay attention).

Steve finds himself strangely waiting—hoping—for Tony to speak to him, even if it's just to make a wisecrack. Or to look at him at all. But Tony does neither.

After the meeting is adjourned, Tony rises immediately, seemingly ready to bolt the room.

Before he can make it out the door, Steve speaks up. "Um, Tony, can we talk?"

That stops Tony in his tracks, but he doesn't turn to look at Steve. "I'm a busy guy, Steve," he says, and the words are strangely stilted, not Tony's usual rambling cadence. "Got places to be."

"Did the vibe in the room suddenly get a little… weird?" Bruce looks between Steve and Tony.

"Man, where've you been? It's been weird since we sat down." Clint nods at Steve and Tony and mouths something silently to the rest of the group, but Steve doesn't catch what it could be.

Ignoring this, Steve says, "Ten minutes. Please."

Tony absently checks the display on his phone. "Alright, ten," he says. He takes a seat in the nearest chair, waving a hand at Steve to prompt him to begin.

Normally this would irritate Steve to no end. But now that he has an inkling that it may all be an act, an elaborate wall that Tony puts up between himself and the rest of the world, Steve almost admires how well Tony can play at being a jerk.

"C'mon, peanut gallery," say Natasha, pushing at Clint, Bruce, and Thor in turn, prodding them towards the door, "move it before I shiv you."

When they are alone, Steve realizes he has no idea where to begin, or what to say.

A whole minute ticks by in total silence.

"Not to tell you what to do, but this is possibly not the most efficient use of our time," says Tony finally, with a cocked eyebrow.

"I don't know where to start," Steve confesses, because he usually finds that honesty works best.

"If you can't find the beginning, jump in the middle. In media res. I'm smart enough to pick up the thread no matter where you start." Tony has shrugged off his jacket, and he's rolling up his shirtsleeves, undoing the cuffs and folding them back. Steve finds himself fascinated by the movement, the flick of Tony's fingers, the twist of his wrist. Even his smallest, innocuous movements are… purposeful, coordinated.

"My best friend growing up was Bucky," Steve blurts, and he has no idea where the heck this is coming from, but barrels on anyway, "Bucky Barnes. Right before my crash, he uh… he died. And there was a girl, Peggy, and I guess she was my girl, but you know," Steve's mouth twists, and the movement _hurts_ , like a scrape on his face, and he laughs a little, "we, uh, never did get to go on a date. It was seventy years by everyone else's count but it _feels_ like it was just a couple of months ago to me. And I don't know why I'm telling you all this, except… I want you to know that you're not seeing me at my best right now. But I haven't been fair to you, and it's completely my fault. So, I'm sorry."

Tony blinks, paused in the act of rolling up his sleeves.

"That's all I wanted to say." Steve stands up and moves towards the door, trying to leave before Tony can say anything snide because he doesn't think he can handle that right now, but he is stopped by a hand catching his elbow.

"Hey, hold on," says Tony, but he interrupts himself when his phone buzzes. "Oh, for Christ's—" He lets go of Steve's arm, and starts typing on his phone, saying, "You like pizza? You must like pizza, and cheeseburgers, and apple pie, and god, you probably still drink milk as a standalone drink; it's probably wired into your DNA—"

"I like all kinds of food," Steve feels obligated to protest, because he really isn't the walking stereotype that people assume he is.

"—you eat like famine victim, so you can't have _that_ discerning of a palate," Tony rambles on, fingers flying over the screen of his phone. "There's a double feature playing this afternoon that you need to see, and it's close to this pizza place that I'm pretty sure has been around since _your_ time—"

"I thought you had things to do?" Steve says, bewildered. He finds it hard to follow Tony's speech sometimes; when Tony really gets going, it's like listening to a hurricane.

Tony finally stops typing, swiping his phone off, and waves a hand expansively. "Eh, they don't expect me to show up half the time, and I don't want to disappoint them by improving my attendance record. You in or what, Rogers? Trust me, you'll love these movies. Life-changing, paradigm-shifting."

And Steve suddenly gets that this is what Tony does. This is how Tony shows someone that things are okay, that _they're_ okay, because Tony always expresses everything through his actions and almost never through his words. So Steve can't help the smile that breaks across his face—and it feels like it's been forever since he's had an occasion to smile—when he says, "Sure, Tony, that sounds swell."

Tony mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god, you need to stop being adorable; it's not good for my health." At least, that's what Steve _thinks_ he hears, but that can't possibly be what Tony said. In a normal tone of voice, Tony says, "I can't wait for you to see this. Your mind will be blown, grasshopper."

"My what will be what? And what did you just call me?"

They leave SHIELD headquarters like that, amiably bickering the entire way, but it feels… nice. Better than nice, it feels like finally seeing a friend that you've been missing for a long time.

 

***

 

Turns out, the double feature is about Asian—and Steve has to remind himself that it's "Asian" now, not "Oriental"—martial arts. Steve stares at the poster display that shows a man named Bruce Lee in something called _Enter the Dragon_ and someone named Gordon Liu in _The 36th Chamber of Shaolin_.

"Yeah, see," says Tony, coming up behind him with soda and candy (a _lot_ of candy) in hand, "I was thinking, you probably haven't seen a lot of this stuff before, what with our ethnocentric values back in the day. Martial arts got big in the U.S. in the 1970s. The army only taught you boxing, right? Basic hand-to-hand?"

"Yeah," says Steve as he follows Tony towards the theater doors, "but how different could it be?"

"May I just say again—your mind. Blown. And if you like it, which I am 95% sure you will, I'll teach you some, or get you a trainer or something. Junior Mint?"

"I actually like Raisinets," says Steve, taking said box from the many gathered in Tony's arm.

Tony sighs. "Of course you do."

Steve is not sure what that is supposed to mean.

Once inside, they settle in—at least four seats away in any given direction from any other moviegoer. ("I do not want to risk getting recognized in a room with only one emergency exit," is what Tony says.) They watch the previews—which are really confusing for a bit, until Tony explains to Steve what previews are—and trade boxes of candy back and forth. (Tony is a little weird about the candy at first. When Steve offers the Raisinets back, Tony gives him a funny look and says, "I have a thing about people handing me things." Steve feels obligated to point out, "But you gave me these in the first place." Tony seems to consider this for a second, before saying, "Fair point," and he swipes the candy out of Steve's grasp.)

Fifteen minutes into the first movie, Steve finds himself staring up at the giant screen open-mouthed. "Oh wow."

"See?" Tony shakes the last of the Mike and Ike out of the box and into his mouth. He says indistinctly, chewing, "Mind. Blown."

 

***

 

When Tony drops Steve off at SHIELD headquarters, it's growing dark, although Steve thinks it's probably only 8 PM or so.

Steve closes the passenger door and ducks down to look through the open window. "Thanks, Tony," he says.

Tony waves away the thanks wordlessly. Without further ado, he puts the car back in gear and peels away into the night, engine roaring.

Normally, Steve would think driving off without even a good-bye would be slightly rude, but Steve is starting to understand that he's just going to have to accept certain things about Tony and that nothing about Tony should be taken at face value.

Steve makes his way through headquarters, to the dormitory building, which is connected to the main administration building by a narrow skywalk encased in glass. Steve is halfway across the bridge, which he previously thought was empty, when Natasha steps out of the shadows, making him jump.

"Geez!" Steve is not sure how a person can hide from view on a completely transparent glass bridge in the sky, but Natasha somehow did it.

Natasha eyeballs him. "So how was your date?"

"I—it wasn't," Steve splutters, going hot under the collar, "that's not—"

Natasha just watches him, impassive. "Interesting." She walks away, giving a little wave over her shoulder as she goes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve demands, calling after her, but she ignores him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

One of the things that Steve has always known about the Captain America suit—a detail that he has always observed but never seemed that important—is that it has a hood, and not a helmet.

Times like these, that minor detail suddenly becomes _very_ important.

Steve groans, struggling to rise from the pile of broken bricks and rubble that had crashed down around him when the Doombot threw him into a wall. Concrete dust and dirt chokes his lungs and burns in his eyes, and he tries to blink out the sparkling lights in his vision, shake off the ringing in his ears. He had hit the wall shoulders first, flying backwards, which meant the back of his skull had taken the second hardest hit.

Sure, he has the serum, but he isn't completely invulnerable. He really should have a helmet. He should—Steve pulls off the hood and tries to clear his scrambled thoughts.

But the Doombot he had been fighting is back for round two. It picks up a refrigerator-sized piece of rubble, ready to hurl it at Steve, but then a familiar blast of white-hot energy arcs through the air, sending the Doombot flying, exploding midair in a crackling halo of fire and electricity.

"Cap?" Tony lands in front of him, and Steve tries to get onto his feet, but he stumbles, and Tony catches his arm, hauling him upright. "Hey, talk to me. You okay?" 

"I'm uh, just…" Steve tries to stand on his own, but he feels weirdly off-kilter, like he's trying to stand on a moving ship. He tries to take a step, but nearly trips over himself, and Tony grabs him again. Steve tries to wave off the help. "I'm fine. I just need a second."

"Which is Cap-speak for 'not fine.' We need to get you out of here." As if to confirm Tony's words, a new cluster of Doombots land in a circle around them, shining metal faces creepy and mocking, and Tony's grip on Steve's arm tightens. He pulls Steve's arm around his neck, saying, "Hold on for take-off, Cap."

And that's all the warning Steve gets before they go shooting up into the sky, powered by the repulsors in Tony's boots. Steve ends up wrapping his other arm around Tony's waist out of instinct—and concern for his life—hugging him awkwardly, chest-to-chest. Tony gets a grip on Steve's waist as well, and they're wobbling at first, but Tony steadies them with repulsor blasts from his free hand.

Tony says, "You all got it from here, right?" and it takes Steve a second to realize Tony is talking on the party line.

"Yes, the tide has turned in our favor," says Thor's voice in his ear, and Steve looks down to see that Thor has landed in the middle of the circle of Doombots that Steve and Tony just vacated. And he's _grinning_.

"Go, we're almost done here," adds Natasha.

"Don't need to tell me twice," says Tony, and they're going higher now, faster, faster than a person really should go with no suit of armor to protect him. Steve has to close his eyes against the wind pressure, and he clings—there really is no other word for what he's doing—onto Tony.

Later, much later, when Steve is recovered and no longer suffering from a head injury, he will think back on his first flight with Tony. And how he's basically wrapped around Tony like an octopus, chin tucked onto Tony's shoulder like they're dancing _very_ close, the kind of dancing that was frowned upon back in Steve's day—which will cause him to choke on his breakfast in the middle of the SHIELD mess hall.

But right now, all Steve can manage to say is, "So. This is flying."

Tony snorts. "Yes, but no in-flight meal, I'm afraid."

Steve starts to say, "I'm fine, really, I don't need you to—"

"You're fine when I say you're fine." Tony's voice is hard, permitting no argument. And that's kind of strange, because Tony always persuades, cajoles, whines, tricks even, but he doesn't _order_ —

"Okay," mumbles Steve, because if Tony's ordering him around, it must be for a good reason, and the wind rushing past them is sort of soothing, as is the hum of the tech in the Iron Man suit, pressed up against Steve's chest, warm and almost _alive_ …

"Hey, don't you dare fall asleep on me," says Tony sharply. "I'll drop you and then catch you again if that's what it takes to keep you awake." And he actually _does_ drop for a second—although he keeps an arm around Steve, he lets the repulsors on the boots cut off, and they drop through the air for a stomach-lurching second before the repulsors kick back on again, propelling them up once more.

Steve clings _even harder_ if that's possible, heart palpitating, now completely awake. "No, no dropping."

"Alright then," says Tony. "Just hang on. We're almost there."

But Steve must really be out of it, because he finds his thoughts going hazy and wandering again, on the verge of dozing, and he has to shake his head to clear away the drowsiness. Steve tries to keep his eyes open, but it's hard with the whipping wind forcing his eyes shut. "Can you, uh, keep talking?"

"I think that's the first time anyone's ever asked me to do that." Tony adjusts his grip around Steve's waist, getting a better hold. "What about?"

"Whatever you want." Steve fights a yawn. "What have you been working on in your lab?"

"That sorta thing might put you to sleep faster, old timer." Tony sounds… his voice sounds different from any other time that Steve's ever heard it. It's warm, and… _fond_ , and Steve must've hit his head harder than he thought.

"No, I think it's interesting."

"Really?" Tony hums a little. "Alright, so I've been on this clean-energy kick lately because it makes Congress love me and gives me some back-up brownie points in case I blow up a major landmark—"

"Does that happen a lot?"

"Let's just say I don't plan for unlikely contingencies." Even though Steve can't see inside the Iron Man helmet, he just knows that Tony's grinning. It's in his voice. "Anyway, it's based on the arc reactor tech, and so far it works perfectly, but it only lasts for so long. I've been trying to expand the energy capacity without simultaneously making the reactor volatile. It's tricky, though—finding the maximum energy output without making anything likely to blow up. It's actually been a lot of theoretical work, on paper, because Pepper will stab me if I blow up another lab. I probably won't test the new reactor prototype until I get the math right."

"That makes sense." Steve is facing the wrong direction, so he can't see where they're going, but he gets the feeling that they're approaching New York now, because the horizon line looks familiar.

"I have to say, you're pretty quick on the uptake for a nonagenarian," says Tony. "Except for pop culture stuff, but I think you're purposefully being dense there."

"I haven't seen anything worth learning in that area."

"Jesus, you're so _old_ sometimes. I bet you walked uphill both ways to school, too."

Steve understands that statement enough to get why it's funny, and he laughs a little, which makes Tony gasp exaggeratedly.

"Wait, hold on, did you just laugh at a joke? I need to document this somehow, record it for posterity. Do it again."

"Shut up, Tony," says Steve, embarrassed, looking away and hiding the smile that persistently tugs at his mouth.

 

***

 

"Okay, we're here." Tony starts flying lower, and he readjusts his grip on Steve so that he's holding Steve up by his armpits, letting Steve dangle lower and lower.

Steve is still facing the wrong direction, and he's surprised when his feet touch something solid, because it seems like they haven't descended very far. He looks down and sees that he's standing on the top level of Stark Tower, on the balcony connected to the penthouse suite.

Tony lands neatly beside him. Still in his suit, Tony places a hand on Steve's chest and forcibly pushes him backwards. The glass doors separating the balcony from the penthouse slide open automatically as Tony continues pushing Steve inside. "Tony, you don't have to—" But Tony doesn't stop until the backs of Steve's knees hit something, and he tumbles backwards onto a couch.

"You, be quiet and… heal. Jarvis, cerebral scan on the good captain here."

Abruptly, a circle of blue light appears around Steve's head, twisting around like a rotating halo.

"Initiating cerebral scan. 10% complete… 20% complete…"

"Okay, look up." Tony leans over Steve, pointing a gloved finger at him, and a mild blue light appears on his fingertip. "Follow the light."

"I didn't know you were a doctor." It's a little weird to be talking to Tony inside the Iron Man suit when they're not actively fighting anything, looking up into the stern red-and-gold Iron Man mask.

"I picked up a few things," says Tony absently, waving the small light around in figure-eights. "You can't help learning about traumatic injury when you fight supervillains on a regular basis." Tony nods a little, apparently satisfied, and goes behind the bar, rummaging around the kitchenette.

As if following some silent command, robots suddenly rise up from the floor, appear out of the walls, circling around Tony and dismantling the Iron Man suit and taking the pieces away while Tony is walking around. They move around him and with him, not disturbing his own actions at all.

The scan reaches 100%, and the blue halo disappears. Jarvis says, "Cerebral scan complete. Elevated intracranial pressure, reduced cellular metabolism and cerebral blood flow. No intracranial hemorrhaging detected."

"And that means…?" Steve looks over to Tony, who is now only in jeans and a worn black t-shirt, hair matted from the helmet.

"Concussion." Tony twists open a bottle of water and takes a drink.

"It _was_ a concussion, sir," says Jarvis. "Accelerated recovery in progress."

Tony pauses mid-drink, cocking an eyebrow. "At what rate?"

"15.6 times the average human recovery rate, sir."

"Well, look at that, super-soldier." Tony smiles at Steve around the mouth of his drink. "You'll be in fighting form in no time."

For some reason, the words make Steve feel… warm. But he has no idea why. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, uncertain and a little embarrassed. "You should've seen me before," he says. "Caught a cold every other week."

"Right. I saw your file. You were a walking medical textbook." Tony snaps his fingers, struck with a sudden idea. "Jarvis, play that movie. You know the one." Tony comes back to the couch, holding what looks like another bottle of water, but Tony shakes it hard and it becomes a cloudy pink with the shaking. He hands the bottle to Steve. "Drink that."

Tony settles down next to Steve, and the television screen blinks to life in front of them.

Steve drinks some of the cloudy pink substance, and it tastes a little bit like powdered milk, a little bit like fake strawberry flavor. He stares at the opening credits scrolling across the screen. "This has Gene Kelly? I've never seen this before."

"Really? I thought this was your era." Tony leans back in his seat, stretching an arm over the back of the couch.

"If I may interrupt, sir, this film was released in 1951," Jarvis says.

"Ah, slightly after your time," Tony amends. "Concussion victim's choice. If you don't like it, we don't have to—"

"No, it looks good," Steve says. He knows this probably isn't Tony's first choice for entertainment, not by a long shot, and he appreciates the thought. "Thanks, Tony."

Tony makes an irritated noise. "Stop thanking me for things; it gives me hives."

Steve smiles. "Got it."

Settling back on the couch a little more, Tony adds, "If I fall asleep—because this movie is ridiculously long, I'm warning you now—don't you dare do it, too."

"Don't worry about me." Steve keeps on drinking the pink drink with a grimace. It's probably full of vitamins, and it tastes like it. "And Jarvis will wake me up if I do, right?"

"Of course, Captain Rogers."

Tony looks at Steve suspiciously. "Not sure how I feel about my AI taking orders from you." 

"Huh. Even a computer program makes a better soldier than you do," muses Steve, and he laughs into his drink when Tony whaps him on the back of the head.

 

***

 

Tony does end up falling asleep, about two-thirds of the way into the movie. He lists to the side, and lands on Steve, his cheek pressed against Steve's shoulder, his breathing slow and deep.

Steve doesn't have the heart to move himself or Tony. (He doesn't really want to think too hard about _why_ that is.) So he sits there, leaning on the arm of the couch, with Tony drooped over his other side, watching the movie as the afternoon darkens into evening. He enjoys the movie a lot, but it makes him a little homesick. Even though it's set in Paris, it's familiar, more like the world that Steve grew up in.

When the end credits start to roll, Jarvis speaks up, but the AI's voice is quieter than it normally is, as if he doesn't want to wake Tony, either. "Captain, may I recommend another film selection for you? Motorcycle travel is contraindicated for those with recent brain trauma. Your full recovery should be complete in approximately 2.75 hours."

"Sure," says Steve, deciding not to question how Jarvis knows that he rides a motorcycle.

The second movie—it looks like a western—has just started when Steve hears the elevators slide open, revealing the rest of the team. Halfway out of the elevators, they stop, openly staring at Steve and Tony.

Which is when Steve realizes that Tony is still sleeping. Basically on top of Steve.

"I… Uh. It's not—" Steve stammers, trying to twist around to look at the others without jostling Tony too much.

"It's not what?" says Natasha, lifting both eyebrows, somehow making the question both innocent and challenging. She goes to the kitchenette and starts opening cabinets.

Clint clambers onto one of the armchairs. "Hey, is this 'The Magnificent Seven'? I love this movie."

Bruce takes the other armchair, and Thor settles onto the floor, reclining in front of the couch. A popping sound starts coming from the kitchenette, and the smell of popcorn begins to fill the room.

This is when Tony wakes up a little. He lifts his head, blearily taking in his surroundings and the sudden appearance of their teammates. "What the hell?" he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Just go with it," recommends Steve.

"Alright." Tony closes his eyes, head going back down on Steve's shoulder, and promptly passes out again.

 

***

 

Steve ends up falling asleep, too. He assumes it was okay to do so, because Jarvis let him. He wakes up the next morning, still on the couch, arm numb from propping his head up all night. It's well into morning, with full buttery sunlight pouring into the room. Tony is still dozing on his shoulder, one hand curled under his body, the other dangling freely over the side of the couch. Everyone else is gone.

Steve tries to shake his arm a little, to work out the pins and needles, and the movement makes Tony stir. At first, Tony just groans and curls into himself deeper, turning his face into Steve's shoulder, away from the sunlight.

"Morning," says Steve, amused.

"Phhhhroffee." Tony doesn't move his head, so the word is groaned indistinctly into the sleeve of Steve's uniform.

"I could make some?" It's strange to see Tony be anything but manically alert—he's always in movement, always on the go, doing everything as fast as possible. But right now, like this, he seems… younger, somehow.

Tony doesn't immediately respond, but Steve can tell that Tony is waking up more fully now. Because Tony suddenly freezes, his whole body going carefully, painfully still. He turns his head and looks up at Steve. His eyes are… luminous, bright and dark at the same time. "Um."

Steve's heart skips up into his throat. His whole body is going _haywire_ , pulse tripping along his veins. He croaks, "Tony—"

Abruptly, Tony straightens up and removes himself to the other side of the couch in one smooth motion. He rubs a hand over his face, over his goatee, while staring fixedly out the windows. "Uh, sorry. About… that."

Steve's body feels cold where Tony no longer is. "Don't worry about it." The words sound slow and stupid coming out of his mouth.

"Maybe you should go." Tony stands, still not looking at Steve at all. "You should go," he repeats, as if convincing himself of the idea.

"I… okay?" Steve says, and he knows something is going wrong right now, but he has no idea what it is, or how to fix it.

"You know the way out, right?" But the words are thrown over Tony's shoulder absently, as Tony is already crossing the room and heading for the elevators. He doesn't wait for Steve's response before he leaves.

Steve stares after him, at the closed elevator doors. "What—" Because the penthouse is empty now and he has no one else to ask, he says, "Jarvis, what the heck was that?"

"I wish I could tell you, Captain." And the thing is, Jarvis really sounds like he does.

 

***

 

Steve doesn't see Tony for weeks after that.

SHIELD amazingly doesn't call on them, so the Avengers are left to their individual devices once more. So Steve doesn't see Tony, but to be fair, he also doesn't see Natasha or Thor at all. He sometimes runs into Clint or Bruce at SHIELD, but that's only by coincidence. Sometimes—many times—Steve thinks of calling Tony, but he has no idea what they would say to each other.

So it isn't until Steve is running onto the scene, still tugging his gloves on, with Fury screaming in his ear, "Goddamn assemble _faster_!" that he finally sees his teammates all together again.

When there are frost giants invading New York City.

There are people running, screaming, in a noisy, neverending wave as they try to escape the giants that are smashing into every breakable thing possible. Including humans. 

"I thought the Asgardians dealt with them already, Thor!" Steve shouts into his comm, amid the chaos. He tries to run against the flood of people, cutting out a path for himself to reach the frost giants.

Bruce is already Hulked-out and on the scene, roaring and throwing Jotuns and generally contributing to the damage of the city. Steve doesn't spot Natasha or Clint immediately, but he knows Clint must be around somewhere because a startling number of giants are suddenly going blind, howling and clutching at the arrows embedded in their eyes. Thor is in the middle of it all, fighting, but his expression is bewildered.

"These Jotuns are not… they are not well," says Thor, deeply disturbed. "I think they may be insane, or frenzied."

"So the party started without me?" Tony's voice pipes up on the comm, and Steve looks up to see a familiar bolt of red and gold arc through the air, high above.

"I think you need to revise your definition of 'party,'" says Natasha dryly.

Tony loops around and flies low, close to Steve's head. "Captain, are we gawking or are we fighting? Chop-chop." Steve doesn't even have time to respond before Tony's off again, repulsors bursting at full power as he rockets away, deeper into the center of the fight.

Well, if that's the way Tony wants to be… Steve sighs, and concentrates on the battle, letting his shield fly.

 

***

 

Later, much later, with the Jotuns in SHIELD holding cells—which come in many different sizes, including giant—the Avengers are back at SHIELD, having a discussion with Fury about how to send them back.

"If it wasn't the Bifrost that got them here, than what was it?" Fury is asking when Steve enters the room.

Steve takes a seat next to Bruce, wincing and favoring his left side. He probably bruised a rib or two, but he's learned that all he has to do is to sit still for a little while, and everything gets better eventually. Bruce is wearing a SHIELD-issue uniform because he had lost all his clothes during the fight. Natasha, Clint, and Thor look perfectly fine, although there is a bruise blossoming on Natasha's cheek.

"Where's Tony?" Steve asks, interrupting Fury's discussion with Thor.

"I saw him flying northward after our battle ended," says Thor. "I assumed he was coming here."

Bruce has his phone to his ear. After a moment of listening, he shakes his head. "Voicemail."

Steve frowns.

"Trouble in paradise, huh?" says Clint to Steve.

"I—" Steve doesn't even know how to respond to that. "What makes you think this has anything to do with me?" Although it was true that throughout the whole fight, Tony was… distant. Professional, but not friendly, and especially not to Steve.

Natasha snorts. "Please."

"You two seemed to be getting along for a little bit there." Bruce says absently, flicking his eyes up from his phone display to glance at Steve. Steve thinks Bruce feigns being absent-minded really well, but he's paying a lot more attention than he lets on.

Steve sighs. "Yeah, I thought we were."

"Hold it," says Fury. A vein in his forehead is starting to twitch. "Are you telling me Stark ran off to who knows where, and none of you know where he is?"

His question is met with silence.

Fury pinches the bridge of his nose, looking like he's fighting a headache. He jabs a finger at Steve. "You," he snaps, "You go fix it. We're not playing tea party here. You have to figure out how to work together and communicate—smoke signals, pantomime, I don't give a fuck how you do it, just do it."

"But I haven't even _done_ —"

"Fix. It."

 

***

 

Steve grumbles to himself as he rides up one of the elevators of Stark Tower. He doesn't even know if Tony is here—with the suit, Tony could be halfway across the country by now and no one would be the wiser.

Except maybe Tony _is_ here, because when the elevator doors open on the penthouse, Steve finds himself confronting a pretty redhead in a trim suit. Who is looking at him with a skeptical expression, arms crossed over her chest.

"So you're Captain America," she says, taking in his uniform. She doesn't sound impressed—in fact, she sounds the opposite of that.

"Um, Ms. Potts?" Steve hazards a guess. He's heard about Pepper Potts, but this is his first time meeting her. She's a little intimidating, to be honest. She exudes intelligence and capability.

"He's on the roof. Stairs are out on the balcony, to the left." Pepper grabs her bag from a nearby end table, retrieving a set of keys. "I'm going to take an extremely long and well-deserved lunch break."

"But—"

Pepper stops, jamming a hand between the elevator doors to keep them open longer. She points her keys at Steve. "Fix it."

"Why does everyone think that _I_ can—"

"Oh my god. Idiots, both of you." And that's the last thing Pepper says before the doors close and she's gone.

Steve makes his way up onto the roof, and the wind whips at his hair, flaps his loose hood around. As Pepper promised, he finds Tony there, still in his Iron Man suit, but with the helmet discarded on the ground. Tony is pacing like only he could: he's sort of… flying while pacing, repulsor blasts timed precisely to keep him at an even height as he walks around. He looks like he's walking on air.

Tony stops when he sees Steve climb up onto the roof. He lets himself drop, landing lightly on his feet. He looks surprised to see Steve for a second, and then he grows weirdly sullen, turning away from Steve and muttering, "What are you doing here?"

"We were supposed to rendezvous at SHIELD."

"I'm not good at doing what I'm told, if you haven't figured that out by now." Tony pushes up again, flying in a lazy loop over Steve's head.

"You can't just run off." Steve tries to follow the pattern of Tony's flight, but it's making him a little dizzy. "We didn't know what happened to you. We— _I_ was… worried."

The repulsors cut off again and Tony comes to a landing right in front of Steve. He flashes a smile that is more like a baring of his teeth. "Didn't know you cared."

"Of course I care. I do like you, Tony." Steve adds sardonically, "Even if it seems like you're doing your best to prevent that from happening."

"I'm not doing anything. Maybe we just don't get along." Tony's eyebrow lifts. "You know, not everything is about you, Captain Egomaniac."

"Wow, _wow_ , I can't believe you, Tony Stark, just said that," says Steve, letting out a short laugh. He puts a hand on Tony's shoulder—well, on the cool, humming shoulder-plate of the Iron Man suit. He ducks his head, forcing Tony to look into his eyes. He says, more gently, "But it's not working. I like you anyway."

"Oh god, stop it." Tony huffs, irritated. "Stop being so _nice_. Go back to hating my guts; that was easier."

Steve says, bewildered, "Why is that _easier_?"

And Tony just… he just _looks_ at Steve, and nothing in his expression changes, really. He still looks slightly annoyed. His eyes are bright with the reflected daylight and his hair is sticking up erratically in the wind. But maybe Steve is looking at him with new understanding, because now everything is a lot clearer.

"Oh." Steve's grip on Tony's shoulder tightens involuntarily. He takes a step closer, and Tony doesn't back away, but it's a near thing. His shoulders tense up enough that Steve can tell even through the suit. "Tony…"

Tony holds up a gloved hand. "Just. Just wait one goddamn second. Aren't you Captain Steve Rogers? Poster-boy of American nostalgia, rescuer of kittens, and straight man in every possible sense of the word?"

"I think you're making a lot of assumptions," says Steve, soft.

Blinking, Tony says slowly, "Right, my mistake." He laughs a little bit, and then he tilts his head closer, his breath warm on Steve's mouth, and oh god, Steve's overwhelmed in the space of a heartbeat, stupidly aroused. Tony murmurs, "Stop me anytime you like, soldier."

"Not," Steve swallows, "not planning on it."

Tony kisses him, warm and soft, clever fingers trailing along Steve's jaw. Tony's mouth is wet, hot like a brand, a slash of fire that Steve can feel straight down his _spine_ and when Steve gasps into Tony's mouth, helpless with it, Tony groans, getting a grip on Steve's hair and pulling him in closer.

They part after a moment to breathe, and Steve moves his hand to hook his arm around Tony's neck. He presses a kiss on the corner of Tony's mouth, uncertain of what to do, whether he's doing anything right, but Tony growls and nips back, catching Steve's mouth in a brief biting kiss.

A thought occurs to Steve. "Hey, can we—"

"Shit, yes, anything," says Tony, still biting kisses.

Steve blushes hard, face hot. "No, I mean—can you take me flying with you? Last time we did it, I was really out of it."

Tony stops, and he rubs a hand over his face, huffing a laugh. "Right now? Jesus, you're so…"

"So…?"

"Nothing. Just don't ask me to sing 'A Whole New World.'" Tony steps back a little, and the repulsors activate, lifting him. He extends a hand down to Steve, which Steve takes, stepping on the toes of Tony's boots for leverage.

"Can we—" Steve loops his arm back around Tony's neck again, and he puts his other arm around Tony's waist, so they're chest-to-chest again. "Can we do it this way?"

Tony groans. "You know I'm now going to have long and extended fantasies about you saying that to me when we're naked, right?"

Steve says, scandalized, "Tony!"

Tony just laughs and then they're off, freewheeling in the sky.

 

~fin~

 

 

 

~later, at some point in the not-too-far future…~

Steve is trembling, muscles watery and uncertain, pressing his hot forehead into the crook of Tony's neck. He's panting, mouth huffing wet breaths into the cup of Tony's collarbone. "Oh—"

"Ah fuck." Tony's voice is thick, indistinct; his fingers are digging into Steve's back, seeking purchase. He's so warm, warm everywhere, fluttering on the inside, and the feeling makes Steve's eyes cross. "Okay, okay, just… slow. Slowly."

"I—I can't—" Steve's afraid that if he starts going, slow isn't really an _option_. He's holding Tony upright, gripping him by the backs of his thighs, and Tony's knees jostle his elbows, tuck into his back. Steve's hand slips, and he feels it, where they're joined, slick and overheated, and the feeling makes Steve's hips jerk involuntarily, makes Tony gasp, high and loud in his ear.

"Fuck, you're—you've gotta. Move. Move." Tony stutters, hips rising, encouraging. His cock is pressed between them, wetly skidding across Steve's torso.

Steve groans, unable to hold on for much longer. He eases out a little and knocks back in, driving up, deep, harder than he means to, and Tony's shoulder skids against the wall.

"Ugh shit." Tony locks an arm around Steve's neck, rising with the movement, cock jerking between them. "Jesus, there, right there, keep—"

Steve moans into Tony's neck, fucking into him, cock flexing inside that tight heat, driving in. His hands slip along the sweat breaking out on Tony's thighs, all over his skin, and he's fucking Tony into the _wall_ with it, Tony's shoulders slamming up with every motion.

Tony's head is tilted back, riding it all out, and he's gasping mindlessly, "Oh fuck me, that's so good. So good."

"Please, just—" Steve doesn't know what he's asking for.

"Don't—" Tony frees an arm and reaches between them, jerking himself off, knuckles brushing against Steve's stomach with every pull. "Don't stop."

"God, Tony," Steve moans, screwing his eyes shut, not even daring to look down because then he'd see—

And then Tony is coming with a deep groan, blurting wet between them, hips never stopping in rising to meet Steve's urgent thrusts. He shudders, pulls Steve into a kiss even as he's trembling with aftershocks.

"Oh, oh—" Steve gasps his orgasm into Tony's mouth, clumsy with it, knees shaking.

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coda inspired by [this little gem](http://rogers-and-stark.tumblr.com/post/24397604402/the-avengers-by-dsmiler-wooooooooooooow%20).


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